The Letter
by WhiteRosesforme
Summary: The letter was simple and unadorned. It was written on a standard Airletter, and the blue and red colors stood out in the pile of white bills that were clutched in the sweaty hand of Mr. James Slapton, one of Her Majesty’s postmen on his daily route.Chap
1. That Bloody Sign!

Hey guys! I'm sorry about Niphredil. My beta is pretty busy and hasn't had time to correct it. I promise it will be up as soon as she's done with it. Anywho, this is my little time passer.

British Dictionary 

**Airletter**- A letter and Envelope all in one. It has all the necessary stickers on it, and has a red and blue striped border.

**Two fingered salute**- A backwards peace sign made with the hands. It refers to the f- word.

Laurel Everest

221a Baker Street

London, England

W1U 6LJ

UNITED KINGDOM

The letter was simple and un-adorned. It was written on a standard Airletter, and the blue and red colors stood out in the pile of white bills that were clutched in the sweaty hand of Mr. James Slapton, one of Her Majesty's postmen on his daily route. He walked up the steps leading to 221a Baker Street. His foot slipped on the last step, and he hit his head on the Sherlock Holmes sign for next door, which happened to be 221b Baker Street.

" That bloody sign!"

The sign that had made his life miserable for the past two years swung precariously in the wind and Mr. Slapton continued on, stopping only to slip the letters for 221a Baker Street in the door flap, and then walked down the steps. His head aching, he continued on, not looking back. Needless to say, the rain had not improved the day by one bit. Slipping the mail for 221b Baker Street in their door, he looked around cautiously. Seeing nobody there, he deftly gave the two-finger salute to the Sherlock Holmes sign, and continued on his rainy, wet, route.

221a Baker Street did not stay abandoned for long. The sound of high heels resounded in the muggy air, and the sound of somebody coming up the steps was audible. Suddenly a cry was heard.

"That bloody sign!"

The person finally gave up from the round of vicious of swearing that had ensued from under their breath. Sounds of a key in the lock were heard, and the oaken door swung open to reveal Laurel Everest of 221a Baker Street, London.

She stood in the doorway looking frazzled, and the sopping wet business suit dripped on to the welcome mat . The rain pounded outside, and grey gloom surrounded London. Clutching her head with one hand, she set her handbag and keys down on the hall table, and staggered into the kitchen for some ice. She did not hear the crinkle of paper underneath her foot as she stepped on the mail, her wet shoes smearing the return address of the sender on the blue Airletter.


	2. Nobody's Looking

NO REVIEWS!?! I'M INSULTED. You'll have to make that up to me.

Anywho, Please review? I know _somebody _has to be reading this. Please just drop a word or two. Pretty Please?

Chapter Two

Pulling out the ice drawer, Laurel took 3 pieces and put them in an old rag. She leaned against the cheap plastic counter, and sighed deeply. Today, she decided, had been the ultimate bad day. Between being hit by the sign again_, and_ nobody remembering her birthday, she felt like the kids who got coal in their stocking for Christmas.

She took the Ovalmaltine out of the cupboard, and the milk out of her old, humming, fridge. Grabbing a copper pan from the pan rack above, she poured some milk in it, and put it on the stove. She stood staring at the milk for a moment. When she decided that the Ovalmaltine wasn't going to be ready right away, she moved out into the drawing room, and kicked off her heels. She was just about to sit down in the huge armchair when she remembered the mail.

Damn! I forgot to get the mail. I wonder if anybody remembered that… well, that it was my birthday today.

She got herself up, and wearily plodded towards the front door. Her footsteps echoed in the dark hallway, and she was suddenly reminded of how lonely this house could be. She shivered, and quickly turned on the lights in the hall. Bending down, she picked up the large bundle of envelopes. The blue letter was on top. When she saw it, her heart gave a skip.

_Could it be that someone remembered my birthday?_

She raced down the hallway, her feet pounding on the old wooden floor. She almost raced past the drawing room, but stopped and backtracked. She took a flying leap for the armchair, and landed with an "oomph". She was too excited to notice. She hastily ripped open the fold, and her eyes devoured the letter.

_What?_

While she sat trying to comprehend what was going on, the sound of milk boiling grew louder by the minute. It wasn't until the fire alarm went off that she remembered the stove.

_Bloody Hell! What has the world got against me?_

Once she had shut up the awful din the alarm had been making, she took the letter and dragged herself upstairs. The carpeted stairs felt warm and relaxing under her feet, and she already saw herself dropping into bed, and conking out immediately. She finally reached her bedroom, and collapsed into the comforter. She debated getting up and going to the dresser for some pajamas, but then again, that involved useless energy expenditure. She couldn't sleep in her business suit, so she took it off and just went to bed in her bra and knickers.

What the hell… nobody's looking.

She gave the letter an incredulous look over before setting it down on the bedside table and falling fast asleep.

**Dearest Laurel,**

**You do not know me, but believe me when I say I am trustworthy. I have no intention of harming you, nor will any harm come your way should you chose to listen. I am inclosing 10,000 £. Tomorrow, I wish you to attend an auction, and bid on an item for me. The auction is to be held at 221b Baker Street. When you knock, (at precisely six 'o' clock) they will ask you for a password. You shall say, " Elementary, my dear Watson." You shall know what to bid on. I daresay it shall call attention to itself.**

**My dear, this may seem confusing, but it shall work out for the best. You may end up having the adventure of your life! **

**Best Wishes and Regards,**

**T**

**P.S. If you chose not to help me, keep the money. But, I must warn you; it will not hold any meaning. Money is also meant to be spent on others. Who else have you got to give it to?**

**P.P.S. Happy Birthday**


	3. Tick Tock, Tick Tock

Does anybody ever feel like their thoughts are always running around unchecked in their head? Sometimes I'll think about a couple of things at once, so I made the mental dialogue as true to life as possible. It may be a little confusing.

British Lingo

Telly- Television

Big Brother- Reality show that is very popular.

Chapter Three

"Now, can anyone answer question three? Yes, Charlie?"

" Sixty-four degrees, Ms. Everest."

" _Why_ is it sixty-four degrees?"

Silence reigned over the classroom of Geometry I as the students racked their brains for the mysterious answer. Some craned to look at the problem, as if they were simply re-evaluating the problem from a different angle, but she knew that they hadn't done their homework and were simply trying to solve it.

" No one? Well, you all must stop looking in the back of the book for answers. You're not learning anything, and then I'm not doing my job, am I? Now turn to page 176 and look at problem nineteen…"

-

Once she had gotten them set up, she sat down on her desk chair and pulled out a stack of papers. Quickly correcting the papers one after another, she fell in to a stupor of sorts, and was thourough shocked when the letter she had received the night before floated down to the floor when she dropped it.

_I know I left that at home… It was by the bedside table, I'm sure of it! _

The more she looked at the letter, the more she thought about what she was going to do.

_Should I go? It could be dangerous. I might get kidnapped. Besides, who sends that much money? I'm sure only gangsters and hoodlums. Yes, it's probably best if I don't go._

_-_

**5: 47 pm, 221a Baker Street, London, United Kingdom.**

_I should make some Ovalmaltine. Yes, I think I'll do that._

**5: 49**

_Bloody milk takes forever to boil! I'll go… read a book while I'm waiting. Yes, that's what I'll do._

**5:53**

_Reading is not working. What can I do?_

_Ooh, I could watch some telly!_

**5:57**

_Oh damn! The milk. I have to go turn that off. Pity. I wanted to see who they kicked out on Big Brother. Ooh, it must have been a couple of season's back that that cow Jade was on. She was funny. God, I can never make Ovalmaltine. The milk always burns._

**5:58**

_What on earth am I going to do now?_

**5:58:23**

_Damn it all to hell! I'm going to that bloody auction._

_-_

She quickly ran upstairs and grabbed her knapsack and a few other items. She had just shoved the MACE in, when she paused. She saw the letter and the money, and when she remembered its words, she felt she would not be back for a long time. She picked up the letter, and glanced around the room for necessities.

With this ominous thought in mind, she grabbed some pj's and a clean set of day clothes. With this came a hairbrush and hair ties. Running into the bathroom, she grabbed her toothpaste and brush as well.

Sprinting down the stairs to the kitchen, she grabbed her stash of snack food and quickly shoved it in the bag.

_On second thought, I might want some water too._

_-_

After she had grabbed her coat, she locked the door to her house, and vaulted over the iron fence. She tentatively climbed the stairs to 221b Baker Street, and stood debating with herself in front of the door.

_You are losing it, Laurel. Nobody's going to kidnap you. You shouldn't be panicking like this. You're going to feel completely foolish when you get home tonight._

Emboldened with this new courage, she knocked on the door.

A gruff voice answered from the other side of the door.

"Wha' the password?"

Her voice trembling, she replied, " Why, that's elementary, my dear Watson!"

The door creaked open, and she took the first step in.

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	4. Curiosity Killed the Cat

Yes, it's a wee bit short, but I'm writing the next chappie right now and it'll be up today or tomorrow.

I just had winter finals, and the are such a pain in the #$$!!!!

Please review to make me feel better?!

Chapter Four

The floorboards creaked below her, and she quickly tripped into the house. The door slammed shut, and she turned around to see a rough looking man smiling toothily at her. Involuntarily she shuddered, and proceeded to walk down the long ark hallway lit by only a few oil lamps. On the walls were paintings of a boy. The next painting was that of teenager, dressed in old-fashioned clothes. As Laurel moved down the hallway, she realized something.

_This is the same person!_

The last portrait was particularly gruesome. It featured an old wizened man in a coffin, in a beautiful field. Laurel stopped and looked at it for a minute. There was something creepy about it, but it took her a while to figure out what was wrong.

_He's all alone._

And so he was. The field was lovely, but there were no people, no animals, nothing except for the old man in the coffin. She slowly backed away from the painting, and accidentally knocked into the Chinese vase on the hall chest. She spun around, desperately trying to catch it, and was shocked to find it suspended, hanging off the edge of the chest. It was connected to the table by a piece of wood, and she looked up in amazement to find that a door had appeared out of nowhere.

Curiosity killed the cat, Laurel… 

-

Stepping in, she groped in the dark for a moment before going back to the hall and getting an oil lamp. It illuminated the hallway slightly, but it was easier to see. The tunnel looked older than the house. It was made of stone, not brick, and the wooden support beams showed that it was not modern. She inched along the tunnel for about ten minutes, and was relived to see a light radiating from the end of the tunnel. Upon reaching her destination, she pushed the door open, and was deeply and thoroughly stupefied by what she saw.


	5. Party Animals

Pretty Please! I feel so rejected and unloved. I really need reviews. They make me feel real special!

Niphredil has a chapter currently being beta-ed, but my beta is kind of under stress, so I would think maybe another two weeks. I'll inquire to the matter tonight.

Ice-bling, bling, diamonds, you know. Come on, youth of America!

Manically an old wizened man cackled to himself.

" She'll never know what hit her!"

He signed the end of the letter he was writing with a flourished T.

**Dearest Laurel,**

**You do not know me, but believe me when I say I am trustworthy. I have no intention of harming you, nor will any harm come your way should you chose to listen. I am inclosing 10,000 £. Tomorrow, I wish you to attend an auction, and bid on an item for me. The auction is to be held at 221b Baker Street. When you knock, (at precisely six 'o' clock) they will ask you for a password. You shall say, " Elementary, my dear Watson." You shall know what to bid on. I daresay it shall call attention to itself.**

**My dear, this may seem confusing, but it shall work out for the best. You may end up having the adventure of your life! **

**Best Wishes and Regards,**

T 

The old man started another letter.

Dearest Jeremy…

Laurel stepped back suddenly as a dancing couple whizzed by her. She was in an old fashioned ballroom, and it was full of glittering people. The only problem was that they looked like they were remnants of the late 19th century. Something told her that she had to step forward, so she did. A large painting of a regal man shut behind her, but she did not hear it. She heard only the voice in her head. She wandered into the middle of the room, guided only by a voice she could not see. There, banquet tables were set up and several important looking people sat up there. The man in the middle of all the commotion was talking to the lady on his left, but she saw him stiffen, and swivel his head slowly and look her strait in the eye. She felt as if he was focusing on her, and her only, and any remaining noise slowly drained out of her world. She wasn't sure how long she stayed in this hypnotic state, but when she awoke, all the dancers were against the wall, silent, and the strange man with the eyes was standing in front of her.

He was not an impressive man by any means. He was stout and short, obviously well over 40, but he had tiger-eyes that drew everyone in the room in. Ringed with black, his golden eyes landed on yours, and one instantly felt humbled. There was heated tension in the room as everyone in the room leaned forward in anticipation of his punishment of the intruder.

"Well, I don't think we've ever met, have we Ms. Laurel? I apologize. I should have been a better neighbor."

He grinned widely, and swept his arm out.

" One would think you would've heard our parties, _n'est pas? _"

Laurel slowly rotated on the spot, taking in the splendors of a Victorian ballroom. A chandelier glittered above a sea of black silk and grey crinoline. But the chandelier was not the only thing glittering. Although the clothes were drab, ice graced the necks of many a lady.

The orchestra had stopped playing for a moment and all eyes were fixed on the two figures near the table.

" My name is Jeremy Wilkins, and this is the Secret Society of the Speckled Band."

Thanks to those of you who reviewed!


	6. I was a nonblonde Cheerleader

IN THE LAST CHAPTER:

_He was not an impressive man by any means. He was stout and short, obviously well over 40, but he had tiger-eyes that drew everyone in the room in. Ringed with black, his golden eyes landed on yours, and one instantly felt humbled. There was heated tension in the room as everyone in the room leaned forward in anticipation of his punishment of the intruder._

"_Well, I don't think we've ever met, have we Ms. Laurel? I apologize. I should have been a better neighbor."_

_He grinned widely, and swept his arm out._

" _One would think you would've heard our parties, n'est pas? "_

_Laurel slowly rotated on the spot, taking in the splendors of a Victorian ballroom. A chandelier glittered above a sea of black silk and grey crinoline. But the chandelier was not the only thing glittering. Although the clothes were drab, ice graced the necks of many a lady._

_The orchestra had stopped playing for a moment and all eyes were fixed on the two figures near the table._

" My name is Jeremy Wilkins, and this is the Secret Society of the Speckled Band."

Jeremy Wilkins stalked closer, his eyes flashing predatorily. Laurel started to back away, and knocked into something. She turned around to see the rather large bodyguard from the door standing behind her. He gave her another large toothy grin, and Laurel's mind raced.

Laurel, you stupid fucking idiot! I'm going to die down here. Shit, fuck, damn, I'm dying 

"People know I'm down here. I told them to call the police if I wasn't up in an hour. At 7:01, they'll have the police knocking at your door"

Laurel's heart was racing and pumping so fast she thought it might jump out of her chest.

"Laurel, you should not tell such blatant lies. Nobody knows you're down here. Nobody."

She twisted her hand behind her back and carefully unzipped the bag. She rooted around, looking frantically for the mace. The crowd was closing in around her, and Jeremy Wilkins was slowly raising his hand, a handkerchief clutched tightly in it.

The sweet, nauseating smell hit her nose, and she struggled to remain in the world. She could almost see the blackness on the edges of her conciousness.

"I'm sorry my dear, but you've been chosen. Believe me, things will be better for you now."

Her last coherent thought.

" So is he going to kill me or not?" 

But coherency was not around to stay. She felt herself falling into the blackness, and knew no more.

When Laurel's head hit the floor, there was an almost audible release of held breath. Jeremy stepped back, and his large bodyguard took off his false teeth, and smoothed back his hair. Jeremy shook himself for a moment, and then took out the yellow contacts. Costume aside, Jeremy Wilkins was a short pudgy man with rotting teeth and water blue eyes. He turned to the bodyguard, who had also miraculously changed, but it seemed to be the opposite. Instead of the rotting sailor, there was a blond haired hunk with white teeth. He'd managed to scrape off all the gunk on his face, and was actually quite presentable.

"Listen, Grimes. Could you take her to the room? I'll be there in a second."

"Sure thing boss. Should I put her in yet?"

"No, wait for me. We're going to have to put a few more things in her bag before she goes. She really isn't ready to go yet. T wrote me a note, saying that she was a special case, so she isn't going to a stable. Hold on."

" Right boss."

" I shall see you there in half an hour."

Jeremy Wilkins strode down the hallway, Laurel's knapsack in hand. He'd put some more essentials in there, and suddenly paused in front of the painting of a man in a coffin in a field. He felt around the side of the painting, and found a tiny lever. Pulling it, he stepped back and a door mysteriously appeared at the end of the corridor. He walked with heavy steps to the door and passed through seeing Laurel on a scientist's dissection table, and Grimes standing nearby.

" Hallo, Grimes. She woken up?" He gestured towards Laurel's prone form.

"No, guv'na. Not an inch."

" I rather hate chloroforming them. It really is quite animalistic and brutal."

Grimes stayed silent and Jeremy shook his head and got down to business.

Jeremy placed the bag on top of Laurel, and quickly moved around to a very large silver machine in the corner. He pressed a button, pulled a lever, and twiddled some knobs. Almost at once, the table in the middle of the room shone with blue light, and began to hum. He flipped on more lever, and the table began to rotate. He crossed over to the bookshelves across the room, and searched for something.

" Alice in Wonderland, Harry Potter, Lord of the Flies, Redwall, I was non-blond cheerleader…. Grimes, who put " I was a non-blond Cheerleader" in our shelves?"

" I believe it was T, sir."

" Ah. Interesting, but no. Hmm, how 'bout this one, eh Grimes?" He raised the heavy tome in question high in the air.

" Very good choice sir."

Wilkins re-crossed the room, and opened the book to a page. He then inserted the book into the machine, and pressed one final red button. The lights flickered, and went out, and all that was left was the darkness, a table, and two grinning men.


End file.
